your chatter itself is like an old friend. the friend that i invited to dunkin donuts because dunkin donuts closes at ten. if we went to eat n park, we’d have never left the table again.
i knew this and i knew you.
the friend that i ended up telling too much to and you were getting on a plane so what else could we do?
i knew jet fuel would taste gross but i drank it anyway because i wanted the drama of waiting to see you again someday.
my eyeglass prescription changes every year but i still see the same things. every year i anticipate death and what my tax refund will bring.
my lungs fill with oxygen then flood the air with flames. the oceans i rarely get to swim in still ebb and flow the same.
i could search between the bindings of every book ever bound. the soles of my shoes could cover every inch of the ground.
i’d still be left without a dollar to my name because nothing on this earth has been as constant as your change.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 6:42 PM UTC
your chatter itself is like an old friend. the friend that i invited to dunkin donuts because dunkin donuts closes at ten. if we went to eat n park, we’d have never left the table again.
i knew this and i knew you.
the friend that i ended up telling too much to and you were getting on a plane so what else could we do?
i knew jet fuel would taste gross but i drank it anyway because i wanted the drama of waiting to see you again someday.
my eyeglass prescription changes every year but i still see the same things. every year i anticipate death and what my tax refund will bring.
my lungs fill with oxygen then flood the air with flames. the oceans i rarely get to swim in still ebb and flow the same.
i could search between the bindings of every book ever bound. the soles of my shoes could cover every inch of the ground.
i’d still be left without a dollar to my name because nothing on this earth has been as constant as your change.
Request permission to use this poem